The Sword of Aradel

by Alexander Key

  He ran back along the edge of the pool, caught up the sodden rags, wadded them into a bundle, and hurried to overtake his guide. But she had stopped abruptly at the side of the oak and was looking up at it intently, chanting something in a language that was strange to him. Even so, he found he understood the words:

  “Oh ancient tree, most noble tree,

  Please open wide a door for me.”

  Brian was almost certain the great tree had had a smooth trunk when he first saw it, but now there seemed to be a hollow place in front of him. It looked so natural, however, that he wondered if it hadn’t been there all the time. But before he could make up his mind about it, Merra caught his sleeve and drew him through the opening.

  When he glanced quickly back over his shoulder, he was somewhat jolted to see the opening close behind him. Then he forgot it as he glanced around at the cozy circular room with its fireplace on one side, and a stairway carved out of the tree winding upward on the other. No windows were in evidence, but the room was softly lighted by a warm glow that came from recesses in the walls. Curiously, the room seemed larger than the tree.

  “Welcome, Brian,” said a musical voice. “I am Nysa, Merra’s aunt. I’ve heard so much about you—”

  “Albericus is coming!” Merra interrupted. “He’s got men-at-arms and dogs! We’ve got to do something!”

  “Heaven preserve us!” replied the musical voice, whose owner Brian could not see. “This calls for extreme measures. Merra, speak to Grinder. Ask him to get his friends and drive those dogs away. And I will see what I can do about the weather. A storm has been brewing. If I can draw it nearer …”

  Brian stood frozen, with his mouth agape, looking first at Merra, then about the room for the invisible Nysa. Merra had seated herself on a stool by the hearth; eyes closed, small hands clenched, her lips began moving soundlessly. Beyond her, unseen, he could hear someone softly chanting. He became aware of a faint keening of wind in the distance. It grew louder and sharper. Suddenly there was a great roaring of wind outside. Then down drummed the rain, furiously as if it would wash the earth away.

  Brian shook his head. He had been seeing and hearing things he did not believe in. Even now, with the storm raging outside, he could not bring himself to admit that an invisible person—if Nysa was a person—had brought it about. Then he realized that Merra had opened her eyes and was looking at him mischievously.

  “Have we shaken you mightily, Sir Brian?” she asked.

  “I—I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he managed to say. “You know I’m not a knight. Why, I’m not even old enough to be a squire.”

  “I knighted you,” she said tartly. “And if I wish to call you Sir Brian the Fair, I will.”

  “And I think you’d better let her, Sir Brian,” came the voice of Nysa, laughing. “Though very young, she is still a great lady in her own right. And I may as well tell you that, if she safely reaches her next birthday, she will live to bestow knighthood upon many before she leaves this realm. It is only fitting that you should be the first.” A pause, then she asked, “Merra, what did Grinder tell you?”

  “Ha! He’s calling the packs together. And he promised not only to get rid of the dogs, but to chase Albericus and his men out of the forest. Oh, I’d love to see that!”

  “Who—who is Grinder?” Brian found himself asking.

  “The king of the wolves,” Merra said promptly. “He’s one of my best friends. He told me he saw you earlier, when you were on your way here.”

  Brian swallowed and ran his tongue over dry lips. “You—you talk to people from afar, and to birds and wolves. And you have relatives who are invisible. What—what are you, anyway?”

  It was the unseen Nysa who answered. “We are of the Dryads,” she told him softly. “Many of us live in this grove. We preside over the forests, and the things of the forests.”

  “Wood nymphs!” he burst out. “But—but there are no such creatures! Anyhow, I don’t believe in them. I—I just can’t!”

  “Fie on you!” Merra cried. “You babble like an idiot! And that is no way to talk to Nysa. You are a guest in her home—and you have her to thank for the very clothes you are wearing!”

  Brian swallowed again. He suddenly felt like an unmannered oaf. “I—I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But you see, no one at the abbey—except Brother Benedict—believes in much of anything, and they laugh at anyone who does. But I’m learning. After all I’ve seen today …”

  “I understand,” said Nysa. “Laughter is a terrible weapon. It destroys all belief. Not many believe in us now, and when all people cease to believe, we will cease to exist. Even our sacred groves will be gone …” There was a sigh of sadness, then she asked, “How do your new clothes feel?”

  “Oh, wonderful! I do thank you for them.”

  “I pray you will live to see better. But they are the best my friends and I could get together on such short notice. Here—I’ll get rid of those old things.”

  His sodden rags, which he had been holding all the time, were suddenly taken from his hand. He saw them drift away and vanish through a small doorway he had not noticed before.

  “Now let me see your sword,” she said.

  As he held it out, there was a shimmering in front of him, and a slender girl in a flowing dress that seemed to be made of petals took form. She might have been Merra’s older sister. But her eyes were gray instead of green, and there was no hint of mischief in them.

  “I—I see you!” he exclaimed.

  “I wanted you to,” she told him. “But I haven’t the power of Cerid, Merra’s mother. She could remain visible for days. With me it’s just minutes—but that should be enough to convince you I’m as real as anyone.”

  She took the sword, studied it curiously, then gave it back. “Beautiful!” she said softly. “It must have cost Albericus much gold, for it had to fool so many people.”

  Brian’s eyes widened. “You mean it’s not the true sword of Aradel?”

  “Of course not, or you might never have defeated Rupert. Or have you guessed that?”

  “I did wonder,” he admitted. “But what happened to the true sword?”

  “Merra’s mother hid it to keep Albericus from getting it. Now the time has come to find it.”

  Puzzled, Brian glanced from Merra to her aunt. “I don’t understand. If Merra’s mother hid it, why can’t she—”

  “Cerid is no longer with us,” came the sad reply. “When her husband died, she renounced everything and went to join him. Only you and Merra, using your abilities and working together, can find the sword and bring it back.”

  “But—but where is it hidden?”

  “In the future,” Nysa said quietly.

  “The future!”

  “Yes. She hid it a thousand years in the future.”

  Brian could only stare at her blankly. What she had told him made no sense whatever. Finally he managed to repeat, “A thousand years in the future?”

  “Yes. Something like that. The exact number of years is unimportant. The sword will remain where she put it until you arrive to claim it. But let us not discuss it now. You are tired and hungry. Later, after you have had food and rest, we will talk it over and decide what to do.”

  They ate at a small table hidden in an alcove he had not noticed before. The place opened into a passageway that seemed to curve into the rocky hill behind the great tree. Brian wondered what mystery lay at the passageway’s other end, then forgot it as he helped himself to the generous slices of black bread and cheese. It was a simple meal, spliced out with wild greens and heaping bowls of Merra’s strawberries, but it was better than anything he had ever had at the abbey. Not that good food wasn’t served there, only that precious little of it ever reached the stable area.

  Presently, as the storm outside slackened, Nysa faded and vanished, then her voice was heard coming from the narrow stairway. “Merra, how is Grinder doing now?”

  Merra closed her
eyes a moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “Grinder is having the time of his life! He has a big pack with him; they’ve driven off the dogs, and now they’re after the men. Oh, it’s a terrible mess, what with the storm and the horses scared out of their wits, and the men soaked through and frightened. The only one not afraid is Albericus. He’s in a black fury!”

  “That is nothing to laugh about,” Nysa’s voice reminded her. “If Albericus even suspected the Dryads were helping Brian, he would never rest till he had destroyed every tree in this grove.”

  “Oh dear! Couldn’t we stop him somehow?”

  “I’m not sure. That creature has powers of his own.”

  “The true sword would stop him!”

  “Of course,” said Nysa, her voice receding as she climbed the stairs. “And the sooner you two can find it, the better. I’m going up now to hunt for that formula.”

  Brian, munching on another piece of cheese, asked curiously, “What formula is she talking about?”

  “The one that will take us to the sword, Sir Brian. We always travel by formula.” The green eyes held a momentary gleam of mischief. “Surely you don’t think I use shanks’ pony to take my strawberries to the abbey!”

  “I—I sort of wondered,” he confessed. “But I’ve been wondering about a lot of things. You don’t go to the abbey just to sell strawberries. And it isn’t always to see Brother Benedict—you can talk to him from afar. I know he’s mixed up in something, just as you are. What are you? A kind of messenger?”

  “Of course! I take messages all over Aradel.”

  “All over Aradel! But that’s impossible!” He shook his head. “You’re not a bird!”

  “No, but I do have Tancred.” She glanced over at the nightingale, asleep on a perch. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. Anyway, traveling by formula is much better than flying.”

  “I—I don’t understand. But I don’t understand any of this, really.”

  “My blessed stars! Didn’t that scheming uncle of mine tell you anything?” But before he could answer she gave an exaggerated sigh and said, “No, of course he didn’t. To all your questions I can hear him saying, ‘No, Brian, for your own safety it is far better that you do not know!’ And naturally he was right—or would have been right if today hadn’t happened.”

  “He said I had upset a lot of plans by downing Rupert. And he also said I’d set something in motion. What did he mean by that?”

  “Exactly what he said, Sir Brian.”

  “But—but it doesn’t make sense!”

  “But, Sir Brian, you began something by defeating Rupert, for one thing, thus spoiling the plans of Albericus.”

  “That was an accident. Either that, or something was wrong with Rupert. Beating him was too easy.”

  “It was no accident,” she retorted. “And there was nothing wrong with Rupert. My uncle told me all about it. He was so afraid of what might happen that he had a Saracen bow ready to kill both Albericus and Rupert if you had been cut down. Killing them wouldn’t have solved anything, would only have caused fighting all over Aradel for years. So you see—”

  “Wait!” he interrupted. “You’ve got me more mixed up than ever. Are you trying to tell me that I beat Rupert because I’m actually better at arms?”

  “Of course, you silly goose! And why shouldn’t you be? You are a fair-haired Celt, and you were trained by the greatest swordsman the world has ever known. Why, if Albericus even suspected who my uncle is …” She rolled her green eyes tragically and shook her head.

  He could only stare at her, more confused than ever.

  Suddenly she gave one of her gay little laughs. “What has being a fair-haired Celt got to do with it?” she said. “And how do I know you are a Celt?” She paused, then said seriously, “I’m younger than you—only a little girl, really—but because my mother was of the Dryads, I was born with knowledge. Now, I will tell you something. Most Celts are dark, but there is a fair strain that produces great leaders and warriors. My father’s people are of that strain. So are you. That is why my uncle wanted you to hide your hair this morning. But Albericus saw it anyway, and knew you for what you are.”

  “But that doesn’t explain—”

  “I’m not through yet. What I’m trying to tell you is that all the time you were at the abbey, my uncle was training you for a very special mission.”

  “To find the true sword?”

  “Of course! Only, he wasn’t expecting you to be strong enough and ready for another year or more. But what happened today upset everything. Why, just think what’s happened: The duke is suddenly dead. His only heir—using what was supposed to be the true sword—was beaten and practically disgraced by a stableboy. Oh, la-de-de! Think what all Aradel will be saying as soon as the news is out!”

  He blinked. “W-what?”

  “Oh, fiddle! Surely you can see! Why, questions will fly like arrows in a battle. Everybody will know Albericus lied about the sword, that he brought Rupert a substitute. So where is the true sword? they’ll ask. And what will Albericus do now? What’s going to happen in Aradel?”

  She paused for breath, then rushed on. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen! Unless we can find the true sword quickly, there’ll be trouble. Dreadful trouble. The peasants have been in bondage five years now. They’re ready to fight. So they’ll follow any wretch of a lord who promises freedom. But too many wretches would like to rule Aradel, so there’ll be fighting all over the land. And burnings! Oh, that monster Albericus is so furious now he’ll burn more Celts than ever.”

  “Celts?”

  “Of course. It’s the Celts he hates and is afraid of. If we had the true sword now, every Celt in the land would rise and follow it. The true sword itself is Celtic.” She pointed to a carved cross with a circle about the center that was hanging above Tancred’s perch. “See? That is a Celtic cross. One just like it is on the hilt of the true sword.”

  “Oh!” He remembered the cross with a circle on Brother Benedict’s map.

  “This place,” she said, “the grove and the great spring, is sacred to the Celts. Every true Celt feels it when he first sees it. Our leaders, my uncle included, have long used the grove for their secret meetings.”

  Suddenly a light began to gleam in the back of his mind. “I want to know about the language,” he said. “Is—is it the one that is forbidden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you speak it?”

  Quick mischief shone in her eyes. “Of course I speak it—and so do you!”

  “But—but how could I? I’ve never learned it!”

  Her merry laughter filled the room. “It is your native tongue, Sir Brian. You have been speaking it ever since you came in here.”

  He could only gape at her. She laughed again. Finally she said, “You forget, Sir Brian, that you are under a spell. A very strong one that will lift only when certain deeds are accomplished. For your own protection, you have been made to forget that you know your native tongue, even though you can understand it when you hear it. And you cannot speak it in public.”

  He thought about this a moment, then asked, “How did you happen to learn all this about me? Did you get it from your uncle? And who put the spell on me? It seems very strange that—well, you’ve been leading me around by the nose just the way your uncle did. Why don’t you—”

  “Something’s wrong,” Merra interrupted suddenly, springing to her feet. “It’s Nysa. I can feel her thoughts. Oh dear—she can’t find the formula!”

  She raced out of the alcove and ran up the stairway. Brian followed a few paces and stood at the foot of the stairs, listening. He could hear Merra’s voice somewhere above him, quick, anxious and questioning, and the quiet but worried tones of Nysa. After a long while he heard them returning. Merra appeared first, carrying a tiny box with a jeweled top. Behind her, suddenly shimmering into visibility, came Nysa.

  “It’s gone!” Merra exclaimed tragically. “The formula was kept locked in this box for year
s, but now it’s gone! What in the world are we going to do?”

  4

  Search for a Formula

  BRIAN TOOK THE BOX FROM MERRA’S UNSTEADY hand and looked at it curiously. It was of silver, and just small enough to fit into his palm. A single large amethyst adorned the top. He flipped it open, saw that it was empty, and slowly closed it.

  He looked questioningly at Nysa. “It—it’s been locked for years?” he said.

  “Yes. It was Cerid’s box. She put the formula in it herself—it was written on a little roll of parchment—and locked it and gave it to me to keep. I put it in the cabinet upstairs, with the key beside it.” Nysa held up a tiny silver key on a string.

  “Why bother to lock it?” he said, frowning at the key.

  “Oh, that was just to keep the parchment from falling out accidentally, so it wouldn’t be lost or carried away by mice.”

  “And this is the first time you’ve unlocked the box since you’ve had it?”

  “Yes. There was no reason why I should have opened it. So long as the box was here with me, I was sure the formula would be safe. Why, I—I simply cannot imagine …”

  “Well, someone surely opened the box and took it,” he persisted. “Did anyone around here know you had it?”

  “Everyone here in the grove knew about it,” Nysa said quietly. “We have no secrets from each other. But the Dryads never take. They only give.”

  “But—but suppose someone just borrowed the formula and forgot to bring it back?”

  Nysa shook her lovely head. “Had one of my sisters wanted to borrow it—and we always share what we have—she would have come to me and committed the formula to memory. Oh, I wish that had been the case! We could go to her now and have her write it down for us. As for me—”

  “Didn’t you ever look at the formula yourself?” Brian asked.

  “No. The future repels me. Just being able to divine bits of the future is almost too much at times. But Cerid was curious. It took her months to work out the formula—they are extremely difficult, and few of us can do them—but she managed to finish it just before the invasion.”